Isn't it a Pity?
by DCFanatic4life
Summary: So Chris wanted revenge at Backlash? Well, this is a nice, little fic about what could've happened at Backlash...it's kind of a pity it didn't.


Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or real people portrayed in this fic. Vince McMahon and WWE own the characters and the real people own themselves. 

Based around the song, "Isn't it a Pity" by George Harrison.

**To read the original version with song lyrics go to: bitter-solemnity. com /fics /Onepart /IIAP.php (just get rid of the spaces).**

A/N: Just a little fic from me, be brutal if you want to, enjoy. :)

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So tonight is the night that I get my so-called revenge. It doesn't feel like the kind of night that could define me for the next few months. Going into the ring and beating on Trish and Christian, its like a quick-fix, something to take my mind off of the hurt, at least for a little while, but when this is all over, I'm still the one left with the broken heart. I'm still the one who's sitting alone at a bar, drowning my sorrows. Still the one who's lying alone in a hotel room, five hundred hotel rooms, and they all seem to have the same ceiling, at least they're all the same when you have nothing else to look at. 

I guess I was just foolish, foolish enough to think that I deserved some semblance of happiness. I probably don't, not anymore, I should've seen her for face value. Sure, she did like me for a while, but ultimately, I'm the one that screwed it up with that stupid ass bet. If I could've turned back time, I know that I would. I can't, and now here I am, sitting alone in a hallway, wallowing.

I pretend to hate her, put up a brave front to the world. I don't really hate her I guess. Or maybe I do and I don't know it. But then I call her those names and for some reason I do feel a little bit better. Calling her a "slut," I hope that it hurts her as much as she hurt me. I guess it's a cycle, you hurt me, I hurt you. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. I wish I could just turn the other cheek, but when I feel that hurt tighten in my chest, its hard to forget anything else at the given moment. I just want her to hurt...and then I don't. Life is too confusing.

I tell people who walk by that I'm mentally preparing for my match, but I think I'm just mentally holding off my breakdown. How does a woman get under your skin so fast, and then refuse to leave? It sucks, everything about this match sucks. Fighting the woman that I used to...well, Trish. Fighting my best friend...well, ex-best friend now. I wish it wasn't a handicap match, I wish that it was a tag match. I'm sure that I could've scrounged up a partner. Someone who I could use so I wouldn't have to fight with Trish. Because I really don't, I'd rather pass her off to someone else...anyone else.

I think that we could've been good together, Trish and I. Its really a shame that things didn't work out between the two of us. I think we could've had something special. That's what people say when they lose a chance to be with someone right? They said, "we could've had something special." It's a cliche and I know it, but well, you never know right, we could've had something great. I can almost imagine her accompanying me to all my matches. That would've been great, I would've loved that so much.

But that's what dreams are for right? That's what dreams are made for, to think of the things that passed you by. To contemplate the what-if's of life. Its what I'm sure that I'll be doing tonight. Unless I drink so much that I fall into a drunken stupor and have a blissfully dreamless night. I can hope for that. I do hope for that. As long as she doesn't invade my dreams like she does every night I'm coherent when I go to bed. I miss the old Trish, I miss her so much and it sickens me to see what she's become.

I sigh, one of the production assistants told me my match was coming up in about fifteen minutes. I nod silently, my head still buried in my knees as I remain in my position against the wall. The hall turns quiet and I figure everyone is in their rooms watching the show, wanting to see what's going on out there, cheering for whoever they deem appropriate. I'd rather just stay here and think a little bit more. This way I don't have to put the up the pretense of being ok, of wanting revenge when I really don't.

I hear a clicking sound, far off, but I choose to ignore it. It becomes louder and louder and I figure its someone's shoes. I don't really care. I've gotten pretty good at fading into this wall behind me. Chris Jericho, the fading man. It suits me I think, just fading into the background, not speaking, not doing anything. I go out there and I pretend to be some big- shot, but I'm really not. The clicking gets louder as whoever it is approaches me. I choose to ignore them more by burying my face into my arms and staying curled up. The clicking stops just as it reaches me. I guess I'm not as invisible as I wanted to be.

I don't look up, figuring that whoever it was would leave me alone. I wait for that clicking sound; the sound that will tell me that someone standing over me will leave me be. I wait for it in anxious anticipation. My ears are honed in and ready for it, it'll come soon, it always does. I've gotten used to people walking away from me, this time won't be any different.

Except there is no click.

I finally decide to just look up at whoever had deemed it necessary to interrupt my very serious thinking. I turn my head up and at first I feel like I'm blinded by the harsh neon lights. They're too bright for my poor tired eyes. I can't see the person properly as the lights blind me, but they're looking down at me, I can tell that much. I run my hands over my face, rubbing my eyes a little, creating those little specks you always see, like I just got fifty flashes from a camera to my face. Finally, I think I can see again, and turn my head up to the person, whoever it is, they sure are persistent to just stand there staring at me.

She's a vision; she truly is, and I almost have to rub my eyes again to make sure that I'm not seeing things. But there she is, standing right in front of me, and unaffected smirk on her face, one that I've seen too many times before. I take her all in, from the black strappy shoes that she's wearing on her feet, to the short skirt and black business jacket with a pink shirt underneath. Then I see her face, and suddenly, I feel like I can go out there and get a good measure of revenge.

"Now who is this person, and why am I looking at him sitting on the fucking ground," she says. "What're you doing here? You were--"

"Kicked out?"

"Well...yeah."

"Strings my friend, there are always strings that one can manipulate to make a situation go their way," she says with a definitive tone.

"So why are you back on Raw?"

"Well, I was watching Raw the other week, you know, just for the hell of it, and what do I come across, Chris Jericho calling Trish Stratus a filthy, dirty, disgusting, brutal, bottom-feeding, trashbag ho. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that a pet name you have for a certain brunette that you despise."

I get up and she lends me her hand to pull myself up. I look at her and smile, "Used to despise. But you know as well as I do that I had to call her that."

"And here I thought it was reserved."

"Do you want it to be?"

"No, use it on her, she more than deserves it. But then I was watching last week and saw a little clip of Trish barking like a dog, and well hell, who do you think upended her lame attempts and got her father to turn on Trish like that?"

"Thank you," I tell her, and she just hugs me. I hug her back, finally feeling like I have someone on my side. I needed someone on my side and it was like she knew that and wanted to be here for me.

"I came to help you," she tells me as she lays her head on my shoulder.

"You what?"

"I came to help you. You think I'd let you go out there and fight by yourself, when she's a distraction to you. No way Chris! You have me now, and I'm the dominant female around here."

I suddenly feel a hell of a lot better about tonight, maybe even enough to smile. But then when I go to smile, I find that I already am. How could she have known that I needed someone? Because she's Stephanie, that's why. She's Stephanie, my Stephanie and she knows when I need help.

"So, let's plan this shit out," she says as she rubs her hands together eagerly.

I'm out there for my match and I'm primarily fighting Christian since God forbid the precious Trish Stratus get in the ring. That's fine, let her just stay out there, waiting for Christian to knock me down so she can pin me. Christian tries for his Unprettier, but I'm able to reverse it and I go for the Walls of Jericho. As I'm turning his legs over though, Trish comes into the ring and slaps me to keep me from doing my move. I let go of Christian and go after Trish. She runs to the corner and I stalk after her. I just reach her and reach out to grab some of her blonde, probably bleached, hair.

Just as I'm about to throw her to the middle of the ring, Christian swings me around and hits me in the face. I stagger back as Christian grabs my arms and holds them behind my back. Trish slaps me across the face, but I just turn to her and smile. She gives me a shocked look, like she doesn't know what the hell is going on, and she slaps me again. Once more I turn to her with a huge grin on my face. She steps away from me and I throw my leg back giving Christian a low blow. He falls to the ground and I back away, giving Trish a little breathing room. Just enough to make her feel comfortable. I go up top and hit the Lionsault on Christian. I go to pin him, and I see Stephanie out of the corner of my eye as she runs down to the ring.

The crowd is cheering loudly as they see Stephanie, but Trish must think its because I'm about to get the pin. She starts to go over to me, but Stephanie grabs her by the ankle and makes her do a face plant onto the mat. Stephanie grins evilly as she pulls Trish out of the ring and throws her into the ring steps. I'm so mesmerized and distracted by Stephanie's viciousness I forgot that I was pinning Christian until the referee announces that I've won. I get up in disbelief as Stephanie gives Trish a kick for good measure.

As the referee raises my hand in victory, I see Stephanie slide herself into the ring. I would've gone over and held the ropes for her, but she's already replacing the referee in holding my hand up in victory. I turn to her, thanks in my eyes. She turns to the outside of the ring where Trish is still lying on the ground. I look over and Trish is slowly pulling herself up so her head is just poking up in to the ring. She can see us now and I just smirk at her, scoffing a little. How would this moment be more perfect. Oh yeah, revenge on Trish.

I swing towards Stephanie and wrap my arm around her lower back and dip her down. I grin at her just as I lean in to kiss her. She's shocked as she doesn't kiss back, until finally I feel her wrap her arms around my neck to steady herself. I pull away to hear the concentrated "aww" cheer from the crowd. Stephanie looks up at me.

"Had to get a little bit of revenge on Trish," I whisper to her.

Stephanie looks over to Trish, who's looking a little green around the gills. She's being led by Christian up the ramp, but she can't tear her eyes away from us. She looks, dare I say, jealous and I smirk some more. I look back to Stephanie, who's looking flushed and I realize that getting revenge on Trish is fun. If it involves kissing Stephanie anyways. Stephanie leans in close to me with a stupid grin on her face that I know is matched in mine.

"I could get used to this revenge thing."

THE END


End file.
